In a world without boundaries it is irrelevent whether it is fantasy or fact.
It is not merely a dream that keeps life going through the pain and suffering of the years. It is a guided determination fed from the subconscious which could very well be the link to a greater existence, or being, if that is the choice made. Elements of destiny and desire combined form an overwhelming strategy that envelopes every thought and action from morning to timeless hours of the night. Immense and growing stronger, always the drive to achieve what is in no form or capacity clear to the feeble grey collection of matter protected by only the weakest of barriers. Penetrable by even the minutest shard, yet strong defense to even the most cunning orator who seeks to preach only of free will. In a silent restoration the true gods will once again rise from the land and take their place in the now, but not forever, foreboding infinity.
As foolish as the man seeking condolences from friends is the insane man driving nails in his brain seeking to labotomize the very essence of existence. Gregarious melancholy represents a mountainous landscape for those equipped with only a single rope but entrusted with the knowledge as to its boundless length and calibre. Climbing in the front lacks the requisite to protect those ahead. Trailing in the back the individual is bereft of all, even minor, assurances of communal survival, plummeting to firery spikes below. And as apathy strives to engender itself among the common, it is no godlike deduction to surmise that those unable to climb laterad might as well scale the mountain alone. Powered by despondent followers only broken vagrant despots claim enlightened position at the top.
Aimlessly lighting candles and scorching flesh surrender steadfast determination to the charlatan while putting the indescribable logic against the mammon and beseeching truth reveals the one true sacerdotal queen. Majestic, her wings encasement shrouds not from the world but the world from increasingly deifying stature. Lifeline divergent from the dogmatic social regime, it is promise of everlasting realization that pumps the blood from lung to brain and onwards, caustic energy burns holes between reality and the underlying fabric of everything corporeal or not.
Better to die an unfulfilled god than a dried up shell of a man; if determined untruthful is the vision, then might as well a buried wooden casket call itself home.